


Enough for Always

by hereticalgiant



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 13:51:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16347917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereticalgiant/pseuds/hereticalgiant
Summary: Jughead and Betty, a shoebox apartment, crappy cartoons, and a question.





	Enough for Always

**Author's Note:**

> Why do I write such sappiness?

She walks into the apartment, and smells smoke.

“What the-?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” says Jughead, from somewhere within the cloud of smoke. “Shit, shit, sorry, shit.”

Betty drops her purse somewhere between the last ‘fuck’ and the first screech of the fire alarm. Jughead leaps gracelessly over the couch and throws open a window, and Betty instinctively grabs for the nearest cloth-like material and beats furiously at the smoke billowing from the open oven.

“That’s my shirt!” Jughead announces to the room at large, and Betty determinedly does not care if it stops the almighty cry of wrath from the disturbed alarm.

Somewhere in the middle of batting smoke towards the window, and looking like she’s trying to bring a plane in to land in their tiny apartment, Betty notices Jughead standing off to the side with his hands clasped over his ears.

“Seriously?!” She demands.

Jughead grins and shouts over the alarm. “You look like you’ve got things under control!”

It takes several long minutes for the last of the smoke to dissipate, the shrieking cuts off as suddenly as it began, and Betty is left with a ringing in her ears and a sheepishly smiling boyfriend.

“Surprise,” he says, uncovering his ears and splaying out his hands as if to say ‘ta-da’.

“Surprise?” Betty echoes, incredulously, as she throws his plaid shirt onto the counter. “Surprise, you’re burning down the apartment?”

Jughead climbs back over the fold-out couch, their little trick to divide the kitchen and the bedroom, and slides into her space with a smile that could charm snakes. “I made dinner,” he informs her, his hands running soothingly along her forearms. She wishes he wouldn’t, since she rather wants to be angry with him and it’s making the matter difficult.

Betty turns to the oven, and the blackened mess within.

Jughead pulls a face. “I attempted to make dinner,” he revises.

Betty really does try not to laugh, but the absurdity of the situation, coupled with the exhaustion of another long day at the paper, leaves her too weak to fight.

“And what were we having?” She asks.

Jughead brightens, having clearly dubbed himself ‘off the hook’. “Some kind of roasted meat thing.” He pauses. “The green stuff might be alright to eat.”

“The green stuff?” Betty echoes. “You mean vegetables?”

Jughead hums. “And the cake.”

Betty stares. “You made a cake?”

“Bought a cake.”

“Chocolate?”

“Of course.” He smiles, the damn smile that stole her heart in high school, and whispers like a secret, “with ice cream.”

Betty cuddles into the warmth of his arms, and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “I love it when you talk dirty to me,” she whispers right back.

Jughead gently pushes the jacket from her shoulders, his fingers warm as they graze her night-chilled skin. “I could get creative,” he goes on, his voice a low rumble. “Throw in some sprinkles.”

Betty drops her jacket onto the couch. “Be still, my heart.”

“Hmm.” He folds his arms around her - he smells like smoke and cheap shampoo and its perfect - and presses a kiss into her hair. “How was your day?”

Betty sighs long-sufferingly, and Jughead’s chest vibrates with laughter. “That good, huh?”

“Just another day,” she assures him, and leans back. “Right now, I just want to eat cake off you.”

“Excuse me?” Jughead asks, looking utterly delighted.

“I said I want to eat cake with you,” says Betty, turning to the two counter kitchen and procuring a pair of bowls. She glances over her shoulder, faux-innocence lining her features. “God, Juggie, what did you think I said?”

“I know a Freudian slip when I hear one, Miss Cooper,” he tells her, stepping languidly over to the counter and unveiling a (sure enough) chocolate cake from beneath a ratty kitchen towel like a low-budget magician.

Betty meets his eyes, and he arches an eyebrow in question. “I am all ears for any potential food-related kinks.”

Betty can feel her smile, one of comfort and happiness and - ultimately - playfulness. She scoops a piece of frosting onto her finger, and Jughead’s second eyebrow joins the first and his eyes darken as she slowly licks it away.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, and their shoulders brush gently as she passes him with a sway in her hips-

-and promptly trips over her discarded purse.

 

Xxx

 

“Your seduction technique could use some work,” Jughead informs her later that night, over two bowls of cake and ice cream, and looney tunes playing quietly on the television.

Betty scoffs and gulps down a heaped spoon of chocolatey goodness. “My technique is refined to perfection,” she says. “I got you into bed, didn’t I?”

Jughead, fully clothed and lounged beside her on their queen sized bed, makes a point of moaning around a mouthful of cake. “So hot,” he teases.

Betty shoves her shoulder into Jughead’s, to no great consequence bar his resulting laughter, and settles into his side to watch Roadrunner thwart the Wiley Coyote. A cool breeze seeps in through the crack of the open window, and to avoid having to move from what must be the most comfortable position anyone has ever been privy to, Betty slides her bare feet under Jughead’s and curls further into his side.

“If this was a cartoon,” says Jughead, manoeuvring an arm around her shoulders. “This would be when my eyes turn into hearts.”

Betty stifles a laugh. “Roadrunner does it for you, huh?”

Jughead hums in agreement. “Love me a man who can ‘meep meep’.”

Betty slides her empty bowl onto the bedside cabinet, shoving aside various notebooks and Knick-knacks. “So, what do you love in a woman, then?” She asks.

Jughead smiles at the TV. “Fishing for compliments, are we?”

Betty buries her own smile against his ribcage. “Just making sure I’m up to scratch.”

“Sure,” he says, but humours her anyway. “Well, ponytails are pretty damn good, right up there with green eyes.”

Betty bites back a grin. “Good to know.”

Jughead sets aside his own empty bowl, and waits for the sound of blaring sirens from the street below to cease before he continues. “Nerves of steel, gotta have that, since she’s obviously going to be an investigative journalist one day. Strong when she needs to be, but always loving.” His arm tightens around her, and Betty watches the light from the television flashing in his eyes. “Kind and considerate, but doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

Betty swallows; her throat is suddenly very tight. “Jug...”

Jughead shakes his head minutely, and his playful tone turns soft. “The only person in the world who ever makes me feel like I’m enough.” He blinks rapidly for a moment, and then plasters on a grin that would look forced if not for the hopeful tinge. “And so...” He leans over, reaching for something down the side of the bed. “Elizabeth Cooper.” He straightens and Betty thinks her heart is about to implode. “I’d like it very much if this completely hypothetical woman would do me a favour?”

There’s a small box in his hand, and Betty is almost afraid to reach for it. “Jug...I’m wearing my pyjamas,” she says. “There’s cartoons on and I smell like smoke.”

Jughead smiles. “And I love you in every version, every time I think of asking this. The only constant is you.” He opens the box, and a slim silver ring sits inside. “And you say yes, that pretty much happens every time too,” he rushes out. “But totally your call.”

Betty chokes on a laugh. Her vision blurs as tears fill her eyes, which she rapidly blinks away. “Well, no more half-ways,” she says, with the slightest tremble to her voice. “You gonna ask me like a man?”

Jughead’s smile splits into a grin that looks almost painful. “Betty,” he says, and reaches for her hand, which she holds out without hesitation. “Would you do me a really big favour, and make me your husband?”

Betty wants to cry, and it’s a really close thing when he’s so damn wonderful. “Can’t just do this the traditional way?” She teases.

“Who needs old traditions?” He asks, and the ring slides onto her finger. A little loose, but perfect, and she curls her fingers in. “Let’s make some new ones.”

“I didn’t say yes,” she says.

Jughead leans across the bed, and breathes his next words into her mouth like an oath, or a vow. “I feel good about my chances.”

He kisses her then, soft and slow, and Betty is hyperaware of the rough skin of his fingertips on her cheek, the slight tremble in his breath against her lips that betray his own settling nerves. When they part, Jughead is grinning, wide and carefree and she can’t help but mimic him, even more so when he begins to laugh.

Betty all but squeals when he tugs her into his arms and falls back on the bed, his laughter warm on her neck and their legs tangled in the rumpled bedsheets. There’s an attempt to kiss, ultimately ruined by their untameable grins; Betty makes a rather valiant attempt to rid Jughead of his t-shirt, and he of her pyjamas, which ends in Betty nearly tipping off the bed and Jughead with his shirt stuck over his head.

Through laughter that borders on painful, Betty suggests a ‘to be continued’, and helps Jug out of his cotton prison.

“Not exactly the proposal of your dreams, huh?” Asks Jughead, a little later, with the lights out and only the orange glow of the street lamps to see by, huddled together beneath the comforter with cold feet and warm breaths.

Betty presses her smiling lips to his chest. “Well, a big romantic dinner by candlelight wouldn’t have been very ‘us’.”

Jughead makes a noise of assent. “How about naming a star ‘Betty Cooper’?”

Betty stifles a laugh. “I think you mean Betty Jones.”

Jughead’s hums in agreement and begins to card his fingers through her hair. “I’m serious. Are you sure this is...” Jughead waves a hand, as though he can grasp the word from the air around them. “Enough?”

Betty lets out a breath. She leans over and settles atop of him, hands folded under her chin. She can feel his heartbeat beneath her palms, steady and soothing, and it means more than a fancy dinner or her name written in the stars ever could. “Enough for always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Because I am a sap that’s why


End file.
